


Plastic Bag Engagement Ring

by OwlsandOwls



Series: Plastic Bags and Pasta Sauce [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Engagement, Fluff, Just some cute shit, M/M, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 21:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11699910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwlsandOwls/pseuds/OwlsandOwls
Summary: He lifts his pointer finger where his hand rests against his thigh, and gets ready to drop it down with the sound of Derek’s boots on the front steps. But they don’t come. And then they don’t come some more. Stiles drops his finger anyway. He sits up, weirdly mad about the whole thing, and Derek’s standing next to his cruiser and watching him with the stupidest grin on his face.





	Plastic Bag Engagement Ring

**Author's Note:**

> Here you go, my dudes.

Stiles is laying on the porch swing, picking at a fucking hang nail that hasn’t gone away for fucking weeks, and trying to remeber a lyric to that one DJ Khalid song with all the trumpets when Derek pulls up in his cruiser. Stiles doesn’t actually see it, eyes shut against the fading evening light, just feels the wash of headlights over his body, and hears the squeak of standard issue tires on the gravel of their driveway. He smiles, and taps his fingers in tandem with the rythm of Derek opening the door (tap), stepping onto the ground (tap), shutting the door (tap). Stiles used to hate pattern and predictability. But this is sweet. Close. 

He lifts his pointer finger where his hand rests against his thigh, and gets ready to drop it down with the sound of Derek’s boots on the front steps. But they don’t come. And then they don’t come some more. Stiles drops his finger anyway. He sits up, weirdly mad about the whole thing, and Derek’s standing next to his cruiser and watching him with the stupidest grin on his face.

“Hey,” he says simply, leaning back against the car and crossing his arms over his chest.

Stiles waves, feeling something warm and more than a little pathetic curl in his stomach. Still irked by Derek suddenly deciding to change up his ancient routine and therefore throwing off his whole damn day, Stiles doesn’t say anything, just falls back down against the cushion on the swing and shuts his eyes.

Derek, the absolute asshole that he is, chuckles.

Stiles turns his face into one of the stupid throw pillows on the swing and smiles.

Eventually, Derek crunches across the driveway and clunks up the steps and across the porch. Stiles listens to him settle down next to the swing, and feels the push he gives it with his shoulder. Derek’s quiet and still then, long enough that Stiles turns out from the pillow to watch him.

He meets Derek’s eyes staring back at him, all green and blue and sparkly. He hasnt stopped smiling. For someone who most likely just spent an entire day filling out paperwork at a tiny ass desk and drinking shitty coffee (courtesy of Noah Stilinski, king of shitty coffee), he’s remarkably chipper. And he’s exhausted, Stiles can see it in the puffiness under his eyes and the stubble on his chin, but that isn’t taking anything away from that soft, sweet smile.

“What the fuck?” Stiles asks when he’s tired of the silence, of Derek’s eyes on him like he’s a fucking treasure or some shit. “What?”

Derek just keeps staring and smiling. Stiles almost growls. After a second, Derek reaches up and cups Stiles’ cheek, and Stiles turns into it with the same sort of weird devotion he’s always shown Derek. Even when they hated each other’s guts. Because the universe kinda picked all this out for them before they’d had a chance to pipe up about it. “You’re being weird.”

Derek snorts, and then leans forward to kiss Stiles’ cheek. He stands a second later, and Stiles makes a noise between a whine and a huff when he feels his hand slip away. Rolling his eyes, Derek starts toward the front door, tossing out, “C’mere. Wanna show you something,” before he opens it and steps through.

Stiles doesn’t hear it shut, which means Derek wants him inside like right now, so he stands with a heavy grunt and stretches his arms above his head until he hears something in his back pop. He yawns, runs a hand through his hair, and then follows Derek inside. He kicks the door shut behind him absently, and goes into the living room where Derek’s sitting in the middle of the floor instead of on their $700 couch because he’s a giant fucking weirdo who Stiles loves with all of his heart. 

“You wanted to show me the living room?” Stiles sits across from him, sort of flopping down with his signature Stiles™ grace. “Wow. So cool. Really. I love it, especially those dorito stains on the carpet. A daring interior design choice. Really, I think this place could be featured on HGTV or some-”

“Marry me.”

Stiles’ brain clicks. Derek shoves a tiny black box at him. He takes it. Inside, he finds a silver ring engraved with runes and curling vines that he just knows is gonna fit him perfectly the second he puts it on. Dumping it into his palm, Stiles turns it around and around in his fingers becasue it doesn’t seem real. Well, obviously it’s real, he’s fucking holding it in his hand, but it doesnt feel real. At all. The sentiment behind it doesn’t feel real. “This is why you were all smiley.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, just reaches forward and takes it from him. He takes Stiles' right hand in his, and spreads his fingers out for him. He slides the ring onto the right finger, settling it just below his knuckle and the setting Stiles hand back in his lap. 

“I didn’t say yes,” Stiles croaks out eventually, staring at the silver on his finger like it’s about to explode or something.

Across from him, Derek bites back a laugh. “Like you’d say anything else, Stiles.”

Stiles has never loved anyone or anything more in his entire fucking life.

“Idiot,” he bites out before he’s springing forward and tackling Derek down onto the carpet, their lips coming together in something achingly sweet and slow. Stiles finds Derek’s hands with his own, and pins them up by his head so he can feel Derek push back against him and then melt into a big, manly puddle the second Stiles pushes back.

“Love you,” Derek says, practically against Stiles’ tongue, because he’s a huge damn teddy bear.

Stiles pulls back and smacks a big, wet kiss on Derek’s nose to watch him wrinkle it and giggle Giggle. “You too, Derek,” he breathes, voice catching unexpectedly. It makes Derek’s eyes go warm and soft, and the goon leans up for another kiss that Stiles would never pass up, ever. 

They stay like that, kissing and smiling and basically being disgusting, until the room goes dark around them and Stiles can’t even make out Derek’s features from a centimeter away. He doesn’t mind that, just means he gets to feel around for what he wants to see. His fingers end up between their lips, eventually, and then against Derek’s tongue, and then it takes about 30 seconds for their clothes to end up thrown across the room. The ring stays on. 

Forty five minutes later, when Stiles is scrubbing come out of their living room carpet because somebody didn’t know how to fucking chill for the 50 seconds it would take to move upstairs, Derek steps back into the room behind him and clears his throat.

“You, um,” Stiles can hear the forced normalcy in his voice and it makes him grin, “do you like it?” He clears his throat. “The ring.”

Stiles keeps scrubbing, watching the glint of the ceiling lamp reflect and warp in his ring. “Dude, there’s literally no way I couldn’t. You could have made me an engagement ring out of like, plastic bags and I’d still have let you ruin our carpet.”

The laugh he’s expecting doesn’t come, and Stiles stops what he’s doing to turn around. Derek’s scratching at the back of his left hand, the world’s most obvious nervous tick, and staring at the ground, the world’s second most obvious nervous tick. He looks like he’s trying to come up with something, but Stiles stands up and falls against his chest before he can manage it. 

“Love it,” he mumbles into his t shirt, face pressed against his shoulder. He winds his arms around Derek’s waist so the idiot can’t back away and start making up problems with the ring and do something stupid like go out to buy a new one. “It’s perfect, and simple, and personal. I literally can’t think of anything wrong with it, okay?”

Stiles feels Derek nod against the top of his head, and then, after a second, feels his arms wrap loosely around his shoulders. He grins, and holds on tight for as long as it takes Derek to stop freaking out. 

Turns out that takes a few hours of solidly intense snuggling and six episodes of Rick and Morty, but Stiles isn’t gonna like, complain.


End file.
